


Naughty Drabbles: DS9

by yeaka



Series: Naughty Drabbles [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Hand Jobs, In Public, Lingerie, M/M, Multi, Oo-max, Sex Toys, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A number of short, unrelated, shameless and/or ridiculous pornographic drabbles updated whenever. (Most pairings and tags only apply to one or more drabbles; chapters are labeled for their individual warnings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Garak/Bashir (public, toys)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hopefully, more pairings and tags to come. You've been warned.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Having missed their last lunch over a medical emergency, Julian already knows he’s in trouble. While Elim can be a wonderfully understanding boyfriend in some areas, he’s hardly one to miss an opportunity, and Julian’s absolutely certain that he’ll be facing premium punishment. He hopes, of course, to have it administered later, preferably in the privacy of their quarters, in the form of Elim’s hand on his ass, or even a paddle or whip. ...But knowing his unpredictable tease of a lover, it could just as easily be a horrendously boring piece of Cardassian literature he’ll be expected to read from start to finish. 

Nonetheless, he shows up at Quark’s with a winning smile, one that Elim so falsely returns. But then, if Julian wanted just _truth_ out of Elim, they wouldn’t have made it nearly this long. He pulls his chair back and slips into it, at the tiny table near the back that Elim’s chosen, nearly bumped right up against the wall. Facing that wall, Julian picks up the cup of tea already waiting for him and wonders vaguely if there’s anything untoward in it. He take a sip anyway, eyes on Elim’s face, making it clear that he’ll accept whatever punishment he’s given, drugs or otherwise, with grace. He doesn’t trust Elim for a second, but he isn’t afraid either.

But the tea tastes fine, and he sets the cup back down on its plate while Elim shuffles his chair around the round table, tray of food utterly ignored. Julian wordlessly lets Elim settle beside him, facing the wall too; this is a new one. When Julian glances at Elim with a raised eyebrow, the same saccharine smile is all he gets. 

Then Elim’s hand falls on his thigh, and he knows he’s in trouble. 

He starts to say, “ _Garak_ ,” about to insists _not here_ , but something in Elim’s blue eyes holds his tongue. Elim’s slender, grey fingers slide around Julian’s thigh, and all Julian can do is suck in a breath. He’s listened to fantasies of his lover fucking him in public before, and, of course, he’s entertained the same ideas. But those were just ideas, never meant to see the light of day, and now Elim’s hand is getting perilously close to his crotch. The backs of their chairs are snug against each other, hiding them from view. But Julian still feels hideously _exposed_ , and he’s careful to keep his back straight while Elim palms him through his pants, deftly reaching for his fly. 

Elim undoes Julian’s pants with the practiced skill of a tailor, and Julian’s elbows dig into the table, breath sucked in. He presses the back of his hand against his mouth, just in case any more sounds should escape, and he tries to look solely at the flower arrangement on their table, lest he be seized with the urge to wrap his tongue and teeth around the ridges along Elim’s face. All he wants to do is lap away at the spoon in Elim’s forehead and duck below the table, swallow Elim whole, apologize with his lips and beg for forgiveness in such a way that they’d both be squirming. But the bar’s full and boisterous and loud around them, and all he can do is try not to whimper as Elim’s fingers slip back out of his pants. 

He glances sideways, surprised, but Elim merely asks, “So I finally had a chance to read that book of yours, my dear doctor.” Julian’s eyebrows knit together, and it takes him a moment to remember which story he last lent out, but it doesn’t matter. A second later, Elim’s hand’s returned, slipping back inside his underwear, something thin, cool, and hard like metal now held between his fingertips. Knowing better than to ask, Julian fights to keep his eyelids up. “A rather interesting read with some truly enjoyable characters, though I must admit, the time theorems seemed rather implausible.”

“It’s fiction,” Julian manages to hiss lightly through his teeth, his thighs shifting apart to provide better access. But then, he should know better than to give Elim fiction. He expected to have his balls tortured or his cock tied, but instead, both are bypassed, and Elim’s fingers slide between his cheeks, easily finding his asshole and rubbing into it. Julian clenches on instinct and wishes he’d licked Elim’s hand before this started. Instead, he gets smooth, dry skin teasing and chafing against him, drawing slow circles around his puckered entrance. He wouldn’t have been surprised to have one of Elim’s fingers simply shove up inside him, but instead, he’s gently coaxed open, bit by little bit. A part of him just wants Elim to finger him _now_ , whether it would hurt or not.

“There should be truth in any fiction,” Elim has the nerve to purr, as though he has any business speaking the word ‘truth.’ Even his expression is a lie, the way he so innocently grins at Julian’s discomfort, while his hand repositions, the tiny metal instrument running coldly against Julian’s skin. He’s not particularly surprised when it presses up into his hole, breaching suddenly, sticking in, barely a millimeter thin as it is. A larger base remains out of him like a tack, and Julian can only hope it isn’t sharp. He practically whines when Elim’s hand slips away. As Elim does Julian’s pants back up like nothing’s ever happened, he sighs, “But then, I suppose I should know to expect a little... whimsical air... to your favourite stories.”

Julian’s not in a position to argue that his favoured stories are hardly _whimsical_. Maybe they are to a Cardassian. He doesn’t care. He’s busy squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth together while the little toy inside him starts to ooze a thick, gooey substance that fills his chamber, easing the way of the growing instrument itself. He can feel it expanding inside him, almost imperceptibly at first, then faster and faster, thickening and lengthening, and he glances under his lashes at Elim, wondering where in the universe Elim even got such a perverse device, but he’s not about to ask. Part of their games is to never ask. Just take, and repay in kind. Elim mentions another aspect of the book that Julian doesn’t hear; he’s being stretched and rubbed and filled, and the toy eventually reaches the point where Julian might as well be sitting on someone’s wet cock. Then it grows that extra little bit: a _Cardassian_ cock. He can tell from the way it molds around him that it’s not that different: that it’s chiseled to share some of the cuts, some of the ridges, and it makes him swallow a languid moan and yearn for the real thing. No one’s ever completed him like Elim has. He’s never had a cock so satisfying, so perfect. This toy isn’t the same, but it’s making him _desperate_ to be fucked, and he looks at Elim with pleading eyes, while Elim smiles that disgusting smile and tells him quietly, “Clearly, we’ll have to do something about your taste in literature.”

Julian covers his mouth with his hand again and lets a muffled scream out into it. The toy’s stopped growing, but it’s still driving him _wild_. He wants to writhe so badly. But he can’t, not here. He should’ve known better than to miss a lunch, no matter the excuse. Or he should’ve gone to Elim’s shop after and begged forgiveness. Instead, he finds himself squirming in his chair, superior genes no help at all in resisting his lover’s prowess. He squints his eyes back shut and tells himself he can do this; he just has to make it through one lunch. One little lunch. Then Elim will take it out of him, he’s sure, and maybe Elim’s handsome cock will take its place, and they can fuck like Terran rabbits in one of Elim’s changing rooms...

Elim’s chair scraping back just barely cuts through Julian’s reverie. When Elim takes his tray and stands, Julian drops his hand long enough to hiss, “Garak—” but he doesn’t get any farther than last time. The toy inside him suddenly jerks to life, spasming against his walls, and Julian just barely manages to stop his moan in time, stiffening against the back of the chair. He looks up at Elim in horror; it’s not a dildo inside of him; it’s a vibrator. A cold, Cardassian vibrator, jamming against his prostate and already making him dizzy, but he’d still rather have the real thing, and he _almost_ says he’s sorry. 

Elim talks over him with a simple, “See you at the shop, doctor.” It’s a thinly veiled order, and Julian nods while Elim pats his shoulder. In the interest of not looking like the needy wreck he is in front of a bar full of patrons, he waits for his infuriating boyfriend to leave before he nearly chokes on another sip of tea. 

Then he jerks to his feet and fights not to race for the exit, reminded on ever step of exactly what he’s in for.


	2. Jadzia/Keiko, Miles (kiss)

It’s way past both their shifts by the time Miles actually finishes the repair Dax needs, so he’s not particularly surprised when she shows up to his quarters out of uniform. It would help, though, if her dress choice, a bright, turquoise, slinky thing that clings to all her luscious curves, didn’t dip so low down her breasts that it’s a wonder she doesn’t fall out. In true Dax fashion, she smiles sweetly at him, as though she isn’t any man’s wet fantasy, strolling right into his quarters in the middle of the proverbial night. She bypasses Keiko, bent over a wilting potted planted in her own red nightgown, and plucks the thin metal rod right out of Miles’ hand. The look she gives him is nothing short of dazzling, and the low light of the leftover Cardassian lamps givers her creamy skin an effervescent glow. Her eyes crinkle with her pleasure when she sighs, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Chief. I was sure I’d have to get a new one, and these cost enough to make even Quark’s head spin!”

Miles does his best to give her a nonchalant grin back, all too aware of his wife in the background. Keiko likes Jadzia Dax well enough, of course, but she might like Dax less if she knew the extent of some of Miles’ sicker fantasies. It’s not even something he can help, not with the way Dax bends to tuck the rod into the pocket of her dress, exposing her full chest for all to see. He gets one good look between her sweeping breasts before he forces himself to look at the ceiling. Fantasies are one thing, but he’s a better man than to ogle. 

Dax, true to her style, doesn’t seem to notice any of his discomfort, and when she straightens back to her full, elegant self, she exclaims, “I mean it; I really owe you one. Oh, I’m so happy I could kiss you!” And she throws her arms open, pulling him into a thick embrace before he can do anything to stop it, while he just uselessly holds his hands out and tries not to touch anything. She pecks him on the cheek, which would be innocent enough, if her perfect breasts weren’t squished into his chest and his cheeks weren’t threatening to boil over. 

As she finally pulls away, Miles chuckles an awkward, “Watch out, there—wouldn’t want to make the little lady jealous.” He shoots a helpless grin at Keiko, but Keiko, now standing next to the couch to water a fake tree-like-thing he’ll never learn the name of, just rolls her eyes at him. Sometimes he thinks they might have _too_ much trust in this marriage.

Dax, for all her many years, grins like a schoolgirl and tells him, “Well, I can always even that out.” And she takes a step towards Keiko, who sets her watering can down on the coffee table in anticipation. Tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, Dax shoots Miles a mischievous wink, and before he can ask what she’s playing at, she turns and lunges at Keiko, hands darting up to cup Keiko’s face and face tilting to connect their mouths. Keiko makes a startled noise that’s quickly swallowed in Dax’s mouth, and Dax, like this is all perfectly ordinary, opens her plump lips, letting Miles see the pink flash of her tongue slipping into Keiko’s wet mouth. Keiko shivers into the touch and lets out a slick moan that Miles rarely hears outside their bedroom, and to his mingled horror and arousal, Keiko’s eyes fall shut, and she doesn’t pull away. 

Keiko lifts her hands tentatively to the sides of Dax’s dress, and Dax seems to take that as her queue to slip one arm around Keiko’s lithe waist, jerking her forward so roughly that she gasps into the kiss, clutching at Dax for support. Dax’s other hand fists in Keiko’s hair, and she shoves into her so hard that they pitch forward, Keiko tumbling backwards over the arm of the couch and hitting the cushion, Dax right on top of her, crushing her down. Miles, without even thinking about what he’s doing, steps around to maintain his view, so he can watch his commander thoroughly ravish his wife.

He’s not sure if he should be worried or not at the fact that his wife is eagerly responding. Her mouth is moving just as fervently against Dax, but Dax is the one with roaming hands, the one tracing Keiko’s thighs and rubbing their breasts together, grinding their hips, legs intertwined. They’re a mess of soft skin and sheer, silk fabric, and long black hair that tangles in their wake. It’s technically been all one giant, lingering kiss, but the way Dax keeps tilting her head gives Miles plenty of room to see their tongues working against one another, slipping in and out of their lips, thousands of tiny kisses mixed in, and for one awful, beautiful moment, Miles is convinced Dax is going to rip all of Keiko’s clothes off and fuck her right in the middle of their living room. 

But instead, Dax pulls back a moment later, leaving Keiko to gasp, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and wet. Dax sits up and climbs carefully off the couch, rubbing her mouth off on the back of her hand. She flashes Miles a jovial smile as she heads for the door of their quarters, and just like that, she’s calling, “Thanks again,” and disappearing from their world. 

Miles, hard as a traitorous rock, stairs down at his wife, sprawled out on the couch with her nightgown pushed up her thighs and her chest heaving to regain its normal breathing. She looks as shocked as he does, except a lot more... wrecked.

He asks numbly, “You okay?”

And she just nods, stunned.

He considers getting her a glass of water.

But he jumps on her instead, pinning her down to the couch and picking right up where Dax left off, wondering vaguely which one of them he’s tasting on Keiko’s perfect lips.


	3. Odo/Quark (holo, oomax)

When Odo’s alone in his office, tucked behind his large, oppressive desk, he flicks the screen on, knowing which camera to dial into by the direction of Quark’s feet. As soon as the bar closes, everything else on Odo’s desk gets pushed by the wayside—this is when all of the nefarious things happen, with Quark and wherever he happens to be. Odo watches from a raised angle as Quark yells at all his servers over another bracelet he’s found that they should’ve found first, because of course, cleaning might as well mean ‘scavenge’ to a Ferengi. It never ceases to amaze Odo that the other employees go home with looks of awe on their faces, as opposed to the obvious disgust that Quark inspires from all non-Ferengi personnel. Alone behind the counter, Quark goes through his earnings and does what he can to skim a little off the top of everyone’s paycheck. Then he waters down some of his alcohol, switches some of the positions of the synthehol for reasons Odo couldn’t begin to understand, and rearranges some of the merchandise atop the counter. It takes Quark entirely too long to finish with his usual prep work, but Odo sits through it all, sure that the real dirt is coming. 

When Quark does finally head up to the holosuites, Odo’s ready, and he flickers through cameras to keep up, delighted—or as close to delighted as Odo is capable of—when Quark chooses the suite at the very end; the one Odo’s gotten his first test microcamera in. It was a true challenge bypassing security, both Quark’s and the Federation’s, but despite what any of them say, Quark needs to be watched at all times. Odo knows that better than anyone, and he settles back across his desk with his arms crossed, letting them lightly lap together in the absence of any humanoids to see. 

Quark settles into the empty room, calls out a designation, and his program flickers too life. Odo’s not sure what he’s expecting—other than something underhanded, of course—but all that appears is a plain, boxy little room with a lounge in the middle. Quark shuffles off his jacket to toss to the floor, and Odo has his mouth open, ready to call the screen off just in case Quark starts stripping off more. But he only lies down on the couch, facing up at the ceiling with his toothy, self-satisfied grin. He isn’t looking quite at the camera, which is a relief, although if Quark knew of the surveillance, surely Odo would know; he does, after all, keep track of Quark’s every move. 

When Quark tugs on his lower lobe in preparation, snickering to himself, Odo gets ready to turn it off again. The more Quark smirks to himself, the more obvious it is what he wants—this is going to be a sex program. Hardly something Odo wants to watch. But then something in the corner of the room catches his eye, and his curiosity peaks, stopping him from cutting the transmission.

There’s a bucket in the corner, and the contents ripples while Quark stretches, until it starts to boil over—a thick, goopy liquid shimmering somewhere between silver, brown, and gold. It oozes out onto the floor, slithering towards Quark’s lounge, and Quark doesn’t seem the least bit distressed, but rather, chuckles. 

He mutters under his breath, _“This is going to be good,”_ and that’s how Odo knows that it can’t possibly be anything good at all. 

The liquid coalesces into something more solid, something smooth but animal, except that it grows, becoming humanoid, until Odo feels a dizzying sensation of shock and dread—Quark’s made a holographic _him_.

Well, a shadow of him, anyway. Any program meant to imitate Odo couldn’t possibly slink to Quark’s side so willingly, bend over Quark’s head and extend glittering hands to cup the underside of Quark’s bulbous head. Quark shivers in joy as the fake Odo runs its index fingers along the outer shell of Quark’s lobes, tracing slow, concentric circles. Quark makes a sick groaning noise, and the Odo on the screen smiles its odd, out-of-place smile, reminding Odo of his own failed attempts. But Quark seems to like the half circle, and he reaches up to pat the fake Odo’s shoulder approvingly. The fake Odo tilts its head like leaning in to be pet and says, in Odo’s same deep, gravelly voice, _“I never noticed what big lobes you have before, Quark.”_

All jagged, mismatched teeth, Quark smiles up at his holographic fabrication and says, _“They are nice, aren’t they? Is that why you’ve been following me all the time, always keeping an eye on me?”_ Quark laughs and runs his hand back down the illusion’s arm to cup its wrist. _“Have you been fantasizing about me, Odo?”_

In reality, Odo sticks the appendage he’s made into a tongue out, so disgusted that he might actually be forming wrinkles. But on the monitor, Odo’s still wearing a mindless grin and sighing, _“I couldn’t help but wonder what they feel like...”_ His fingers curl around the backs of both ears while his thumbs trace along the inside layer, and Quark tilts his head back to gasp, high-pitched, for air. Apparently, Quark’s fantasy Odo is particularly good at giving oo-max, an idea that makes Odo stare down at his own hands and feel illogically dirty.

 _“I bet you want to fill them,”_ Quark suggests in a raspy, aroused sort of way. His holographic pet nods eagerly, and Quark mumbles, _“Go ahead; who am I to deny a changeling his fondest wish?”_ And the Odo on the screen looks at Quark with such adoration that it’s difficult to remember it’s just a _hologram._

A hologram of _Odo_ , and if Odo had one wit of sense, he’d close this and Quark’s program down and purge it from the computer memory before flushing Quark out an airlock. Instead, he watches his hands dissolve into Quark’s ears, the shimmering liquid barreling through each twisted cannel, smoothing over it all, while Quark moans and arches off the lounge, clearly in heaven. The reminder of just how erogenous Ferengi ears are isn’t something Odo needs. He’s essentially watching himself give Quark some sort of sick handjob, except it’s more than that, he’s _filling_ Quark’s ears, spilling and wrapping over the edges, bubbling and stimulating, and Quark is panting like an animal and making lewd noises in his own tongue. The Odo in the holodeck bends down and spills more of itself into Quark’s pleasure, extending its tongue to lick along the top of Quark’s left lobe, wrapping around the tender flesh. Quark lavishes in the contact, and he moans, _“Odooo...”_ through all the rest of his disgusting rambles. To the real Odo’s utter horror, the holographic Odo nuzzles its head lovingly into Quark’s head and lunges its entire self into Quark’s full ears, diving in and out of them and across the back of Quark’s head, splashing about like a swimming pool, which makes Quark positively _howl._ He twitches in his seat, and then he’s shrieking, high enough to crack a mirror, and Odo’s frozen in place, under the petrifying realization that he’s seeing Quark orgasm.

And then he’s seeing Quark slowly come back down, crooning as the fake Odo spills out of his ears. The puddle grows when it reaches the floor, shimmering back into the man that Odo never wants to be, and it asks Quark in clear, unadulterated _love_ , _“Is there anything else I can do for you?”_ That Odo drapes over Quark’s chest, leaning on him like a hopeless puppy.

Quark, flushed and panting, shakes his head and grunts, _“No.”_ Then, louder, _“Nope. I’ve got business to do. Now, back in your bucket before the real you comes looking for me.”_ Far too obediently for the _real_ Odo’s taste, holo-Odo slithers over to the bucket in the corner and practically bounces inside, returning to a harmless little puddle.

Quark slinks off the lounge, tugs his jacket back into place, and twitches his neck. He looks thoughtfully over at the bucket, or at least, as thoughtful as Quark is capable of looking, and then he strolls for the door, true to the rule that what happens in the holosuites, stays in the holosuites.

...Except that Odo saw every last second, and he stares at the screen long after it’s empty, not sure if he ever wants to spy on Quark again. Or if he wants to find Quark this second. 

The only thing he’s sure of is that he’ll have to get a new bucket, one that Quark never sees.


	4. Garak/Bashir (lingerie, HJ)

As soon as he steps through the door, it closes behind him, and a peripheral sweep of the cramped sickbay tells Elim exactly what he wants to know; his timing is perfect, and Julian’s alone.

Julian barely has a chance to glance over at him before he’s stalking forward; he isn’t stupid enough to think this lapse in shifts will last much longer. Of course, he wouldn’t mind feeling Julian up in front of a few jealous Bajoran nurses, but he knows his lover better than that. He shifts behind Julian and pitches his hips forward, thrusting Julian against the wall, and Julian buckles over the waist-high console, dropping his PADD. He gasps a quick, “Garak—” but he cuts off when Elim’s tongue trace the shell of his round ear, flesh so very tender and soft beneath Elim’s teeth. All of Julian is inordinately _soft_ , his smell intoxicating and his flesh so very warm. Elim wraps one arm around Julian’s waist to quell any thoughts of escape, and Julian looks aside, hissing, “I’m at work—”

“And we dressed you while I was at work,” Elim purrs, hardly deterred. Julian, with his impressive genes, could push Elim back if he wanted. Instead, he arches into the touch like the horny lover he is, always so pretty and pliant in Elim’s grasp. He moans as Elim’s other hand slides down his front, palm digging into his crotch, pressing and rubbing and teasing to hardness. Julian’s never difficult to arouse: the joys of youth. He bulges into Elim’s hand and tries to protest again, but the minute Elim’s teeth graze the supple curve of his neck, he falls into nothing. Elim kisses above his collar and slips probing fingers under the hem of his pants, musing quietly, “You haven’t changed since then, have you?” But he knows full well Julian never would.

He finds the slinky, silken fabric he dressed Julian in this morning—lacey little panties that barely manage to house Julian’s long cock, only straining more when it reaches arousal. Elim runs his hand further down to cup Julian’s smooth, tight balls, already tumbled half out of the inadequate confines. Julian looks good in these panties, so _delectably good_ , but evidently, as Elim comments with a slight chuckle, “I seem to have miscalculated your size.”

“Some tailor,” Julian grunts, not nearly clever enough for their usual games. But then, his coherency does seem to go down as his cock comes up—a human misfortunate that can’t be helped. At least he turns his head to growl into the side of Elim’s face, “You better re-measure me.” He’s rewarded with a smirk, and Elim nips at his chin, always happy to oblige.

Later, anyway, when Julian’s shift is over. He’s much to much the model Starfleet officer to wander over during work hours, bend himself over Elim’s table and pull his pants down, let Elim feel all over his pert ass and dress him up in rich silks and taffeta. So Elim has to make do with what damage he can inflict here and now: the revenge for denying him the fashion show he wants. 

He slips his hand inside Julian’s panties, and he wraps his fingers around Julian’s cock, and he revels in the rapturous look on Julian’s face that drops his mouth open and his eyelids down. His caramel cheeks stain with red while Elim starts to pump his cock. Trapped inside the confines of Julian’s pants—and needing them up should a nurse return and they be forced to jump apart—Elim makes up for the stunted distance with squeezes and a skilled twist, corkscrewing Julian’s plump shaft from base to tip. Elim doesn’t know what he enjoys more: bashing the side of his hand against Julian’s cute balls or running his thumb along the moistening slit at the head of Julian’s dick. Julian doesn’t seem to mind it dry, mind it rough, but as soon as precum begins to spill, Elim swirls it down to use as lube, and he hastens his ministrations. Julian steadies himself against the console and presses his face back into Elim’s, turning to run his tongue along the ridges of Elim’s shoulders. Julian nips at them and sucks at each scale, one by one, and Elim swallows all his own moans: the face of control. Julian’s the one that needs to drown in ecstasy, and Elim does his best to deliver. 

Julian, with all his impressive stamina, is too eager to last very long, not once he starts to throw himself into it, hips slamming forward to rock his way into Elim’s fist. He fills Elim’s hand over and over and stops trying to fight his whimpers, his whines, his throaty moans and the desperate, needy way that he nuzzles into Elim’s neck, sweating and reeking of sheer _sex_. It’s all Elim can do to control himself, his own crotch all too aware of the ripe young ass that’s grinding into it. He knows that patience has its virtue, and as soon as Julian’s shift ends, he won’t have long to wait. 

He allows himself one hard, brutal thrust anyway, driving Julian into the console, and it’s all Julian needs to cry out, body arching back and rippling with clear pleasure. His cock bursts in Elim’s hand, spilling a copious amount of liquid against Elim’s skin and the front of his own panties, doubtless soaking them through. Elim doesn’t even milk his lover out; he simply retracts has hand and lets Julian moan and hump the air, pathetically devolving in lust.

When Elim stares at Julian’s ass, bent over the console, he can just barely make out the thin panty lines through the thicker fabric of the Starfleet uniform. The way they cut across Julian’s cheeks indicates that, indeed, they’re a size too small, though Elim definitely didn’t miscalculate. 

He simply chose to dress his favourite toy up the way he wanted, and when Julian finally turns around, the flush on his face says that he doesn’t mind at all. 

He simply grabs Elim by the hair and jerks them together for a quick, messy kiss, all teeth and tongue and spilling saliva, which Elim is happy to lick off Julian’s chin in the aftermath. Then the doors are opening, and Julian’s snapping to attention, while a blonde nurse wanders in with a PADD in her hands and her face down. She only spares Elim one glance before purposely looking elsewhere; one good thing about his exile is that the native dislike tends to give him a certain invisibility. 

He brushes a hand back through his hair and gives Julian a cheery smile, reminding him lightly, “My shop is open any time you need a refit, my dear doctor.” And then he’s headed for the door, fully aware of the rolling eyes that follow him. He subtle wipes his other hand off on his pants as he leaves, unbothered with the fact that he’ll have to either wash them right away or make a new pair.


	5. Garak/Bashir (anal)

For once, an illicit purchase from behind Quark’s bar completely lives up to its expectations. Elim, with the help of a special Risian serum, has managed to pour four healthy Cardassian loads into his precious human’s ass, and his thick cock is still hard as steel, barreling on towards another round. Fortunately, his shop is long since closed for the night, and he can spare several hours to pound Julian’s pliant body into his mattress. Julian, for his part, is the perfect toy for such an experiment. Even without a similar chemical aid, he’s managed to stay conscious through three of his own rounds, and Elim can tell that he’s peaking at a forth. 

As if on cue, Julian shivers, his trembling body already so wracked with convulsions that it’s hard to tell. Elim loops one ridged arm around his waist and hikes him back up to all fours like the pet Elim’s made him. Julian, stripped down to nothing and sporting just the leather collar Elim’s fitted around his neck, mewls and scrambles to comply, four limbs struggling to manage his own weight. Elim doesn’t stop pounding into his ass, not for a second, and the wet sounds of Elim’s engorged cocking splurging through Julian’s slick channel is almost loud enough to cover Julian’s cries. He’s long since screamed himself hoarse, but that doesn’t stop him from moaning, from whimpering and whining, from panting like an animal. His head seems permanently hung, his caramel back glistening with sweat, the entire space between his tail bone and crack drenched in cum. His cheeks are shimmering and his thighs are soaked, and every time Elim’s cock pulls out, he seems to drag a river with him, and Julian’s puckered hole shivers and coughs up more. Then Elim dives back in and slams more liquids home, while Julian’s tight, hot walls shudder all around him. Julian’s entire body is burning up, and it’s _heaven_ to Elim’s cold fingers. He clutches to Julian’s sides and pounds relentlessly in and out of Julian’s lithe body throughout poor Julian’s fourth orgasm, one that has him nearly sobbing at the end. His insides convulse harder with his strangled cry, and the pressure tries to suck Elim deeper, but Elim’s already pushing as far as he can go. It took a while for Julian to be able to take all of Elim’s alien girth and length, but his augment body’s adapted, and now, he can’t go back. 

He spurts only a few drops of his white human cum onto the mattress below. But Elim just keeps going, satisfied but wanting _more_. He was promised five rounds from this serum, and if he were younger, he’d probably try for six. But he’s not, and he can feel Julian quivering beneath his fingertips, and he knows that if he doesn’t stop soon, he’ll break his pretty boyfriend in two. So he reaches to pet through Julian’s sweat-slicked hair and pants, “Almost there, my dear.”

Julian moans like he wants to answer but doesn’t have the strength. He almost falls forward again, but Elim’s grip catches him, and Elim hikes him up, forcing him to sit in Elim’s lap, bouncing up and down on sticky, trembling thighs. Elim holds Julian’s chest tight while he collapses back against Elim for support, head lolling over Elim’s shoulder, luscious lips gaping open, struggling for air and wet with cum and spit. His pupils are so dilated that his eyes are almost completely black, his cheeks so dark and his eyelids so heavy that he barely looks sentient; he’s been fucked into some hopeless, mindless beast. Elim doesn’t miss a beat and slams brutally inside him, sheathed and too content for words. 

“For once...” Julian pants, struggling with each breath and gasping and arching with every thrust, his pebbled nipples brushing against Elim’s palms. “...You weren’t... lying... about that stamina...”

Elim simply smiles and nuzzles against Julian’s soft cheek, neglecting to mention that, of course, he did exaggerate just a little, and chemicals were involved. But once he’s returned to normal, Julian should figure out as much; he’s a smart thing, for all his exotic beauty. For now, he doesn’t seem capable of higher thought, and he licks his ruined lips, reaching down to touch his own cock. It’s only half softened with his latest release, but with Elim strategically ramming into his prostate on every blow, it’s slowly twitching to life again. The beauty of a lover with superior genes.

“And you, my dear doctor,” Elim notes with amusement, “drastically underplayed your own abilities.”

Julian moans louder and tiredly pumps his own cock, dropping his hand as soon as Elim’s joins it. But Elim picks it back up and wraps it back around Julian’s cock, keeping it there and directing the flow. Elim watches happily down Julian’s body while he uses Julian’s own hand to jerk him off, pleased as it starts to harden back up. Julian groans through his gasps, “If I were... normal... I’d be... dead by now...”

Elim merely chuckles and informs his darling doctor, “Contrary to what you may have heard, Cardassians aren’t so cruel as to fuck their lovers to death.”

“You sure try at it.” Then Julian lets out a broken cry, eyes scrunching together as his mouth parts wide, and all Elim wants to do is cover it in his own, but he doesn’t want to suffocate the poor thing. Julian’s cock twitches in their collective hands, and Julian groans, “Garak...” and then a few incoherent noises, then, “ _Elim_...” A sparse few drops of liquid trickle out onto Elim’s fingers, and as he continues pumping, he knows that’s all he’s going to get. 

He lets Julian go, and he lets the poor human slump forward, falling into the sheets, even as Elim goes with him, pressing him down. Crushed atop Julian’s sweat-and-cum-slicked back, Elim pounds his way to the finish line, roaring in Julian’s ear as soon as he gets there, as soon as Julian’s amazing ass is too much for him to take, and he’s slamming home the fifth heavy load of Cardassian seed. It wells up in Julian’s overloaded channel, spilling out around the ridges of Elim’s cock, with nowhere to go but down Julian’s already-drenched thighs and onto the sheets below. Feeling the high of his orgasm buzzing in his skull, Elim grazes his teeth along Julian’s neck and humps out every last drop he has to give, wanting to make Julian reek of him for _days._

Julian lies there and takes it, head turned sideways in the mattress, and he moans helplessly, “Not again... that was... Garak, that was it...”

When the high finally starts to ebb away, Elim forces himself to pull out, kindly rolling aside. He knows Julian needs the room to breathe. Julian whimpers, and Elim glances down to watch his ripe ass trickling more cum than it knows what to do with. Elim stares at the sensuous spectacle that is Julian Bashir’s perfect asshole, and without meaning to, he mutters, “If you’re too tired to stay up, I suppose I could always tie you. Put a nice bar between your legs, chain your wrists to the headboard...”

“Elim,” Julian snaps, glaring over his shoulder. His expression doesn’t stop at Elim’s wide grin. But Elim does stay quiet and tries not to run over all the other equipment in his mind that Quark offered to provide. ...For a small fee, of course. Naturally, every last piece would look nice enough on Julian. And now that he knows just how much strain Julian’s perfected body is capable of, several possibilities have opened up...

Something in his expression must be giving him away, because Julian squints his weary eyes, clearly wary. ...Or maybe he’s just learned never to trust any of Elim’s smiles. Elim attempts to deflect the suspicion by leaning over to peck Julian’s cheek. Julian just takes it and shuffles closer, draping an arm over him. Julian’s legs tangle with his, messy and sticky, but as it’s a mess Elim put there, he can hardly protest. He lets his human lover wrap them together, and then he risks teasing, “Perhaps one more round.”

And he enjoys Julian’s sly smirk too much to mind the slight smack it earns him. Evidently, Elim will have to shop at Quark’s more often.


	6. Miles/Keiko/Bashir (dp)

For a young firecracker with the enthusiasm of a puppy, Julian’s control is surprisingly _good._ He matches Miles’ pace with a skill and efficiency that makes Miles sweat to keep up, his hands around Keiko’s hips far tighter than the grooves Julian digs into her waist. But then, it’s Miles’ bed, not Julian’s. All of them on their sides, a train of sick squelching and slapping noises. It’s Miles’ choice, and it’s not Julian’s wife to bruise, and he doesn’t know her limits like Miles does. Julian doesn’t know how to make her squirm, how to make her scream, though she seems pleased enough with his efforts; she tosses her head back onto his shoulder and _moans_ , while jealousy shoots up Miles’ spine. 

He slams hard into the tight squeeze of Keiko’s cunt, unsure if he’s imagining the press of Julian’s cock, buried deep in her ass. The two of them grind their hips into her trim body in unison, and Keiko, clothed only in a thin sheen of sweat and perfume, gasps in delight. Her arms clutch harder to Miles’ back, long nails digging into his shoulder blades. She’s gorgeous like this, but then, she always is. 

Julian is a handsome wreck over her shoulder, and he doesn’t pull out until Miles does, leaving Keiko’s crotch to shudder and leak. Her thighs are so warm and soft against the scratch of his dick, and for a moment, Miles loses himself, like he always does. 

She breathes, “ _Miles,_ ” out her pretty, rouged lips, and Julian doesn’t at all look like he minds. Even though it was Miles’ suggestion— _one more competition to win at?_ —he enjoys being put above his best friend. He lifts one hand to brush the glossy straight hair back from her face, and he kisses her hard, showing Julian: _she’s mine_.

Keiko’s kiss is more desperate than usual, more fervent, and that might have something to do with the two cocks slamming into her, filling her up past her capacity. She shivers around him and moans into his mouth, clenching at him just the way he likes, ass probably convulsing against Julian’s length. When Miles pulls back, satisfied with the mark he’s left, he watches Julian’s exotic features, scrunched in the effort of a good, hard fuck. In a way, he’s just as pretty as she is, and the excitement that sends to Miles’ cock almost worries him. 

He reacts without thinking. He pulls Keiko flush against him, crushing her breasts against his sweat-soaked skin, and he leans over her shoulder. He nudge’s Julian’s darker forehead with his own, and he growls, doesn’t mean to, but he does: he needs to assert his dominance. Julian, bless him, opens up to oblige. 

Miles kisses Julian harder than Keiko, not afraid to make him _bleed_. Julian moans into it and lets his tongue be pushed around his mouth by Miles’, and Miles tries to steal his breath away, to make him as fragile and needy as Keiko always is in their bed. 

When Miles finally recedes, he knows he’s screwed himself over. He feels strange, but good, and he’s going to have to examine that sometime, think over the change in their friendship, the new discoveries in himself. Julian looks debauched and beautiful, and he buries his face in Keiko’s neck but doesn’t kiss her again. 

Miles fucks his perfect wife hard enough to send Julian the shockwaves, and then Keiko screams her release, and the wave of heat in her body drowns out everything else.


	7. Garak/Bashir (MU, anal)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This takes place in the first DS9 MU episode, _Crossover_ , wherein Julian and Kira get stuck in the mirrorverse. Therefore, this is Mirror!Garak, Regular!Julian.

A/N: This takes place in the first DS9 MU episode, _Crossover_ , wherein Julian and Kira get stuck in the mirrorverse. Therefore, this is Mirror!Garak, Regular!Julian.

The first thrust slams him so hard into the wall that Julian thinks half the dirt will just flutter off his uniform. He isn’t surprised when a cloud of it’s swept up into his mouth, but it doesn’t stop Garak’s tongue. Garak moves in to claim him, cold lips sealing into his, and Garak’s hips thrust forward again, grinding Julian fiercely into the wall. 

Julian’s pants, shoved down his thighs, are sure to rip from the rough treatment. They’re ruined enough as it is; Starfleet uniforms are hardly built for slave labour. Julian’s _filthy_ from head to toe, sore and exhausted and ready to collapse, but the rush of Garak’s thick cock into his ass sends a surge of adrenaline into every last millimeter of his body. The crude oil coating his walls isn’t enough lubrication, and he hasn’t been stretched enough, not for a mammoth, ridged beast of a Cardassian cock, one that takes him again and again without any sign of mercy. Garak pins his wrists against the wall, and Julian’s legs are around Garak’s waist of his own accord, pants catching on angled armour. Garak looks better in the tailored clothes of Julian’s universe, but in truth, he’d prefer Garak in nothing at all. 

He’ll settle for this: a quick, rough, burning fuck in a shadowed corridor, just outside the room Julian should be toiling away in. When a Cardassian came to haul him away, the other Odo said nothing. Garak dragged him by the neck out of sight and threatened to force Julian to suck his cock, but Julian spread his legs easily, and he’s taking Garak’s dick there instead. 

Garak sinks sharp teeth into his lower lip and pulls back coarse enough to draw blood, and Garak licks away the copper as he growls, “Are all you free Terrans this easy back where you come from? Eagerly leaping at any superior that’ll give you the time of day?”

Julian says nothing, because he doesn’t want to say that it’s just _Garak_ , that if his Garak, back in his universe, gave him half this much _direct_ instruction, he’d have dropped to his knees in a heartbeat. He’s spent too many nights fantasizing about just such an occasion, about Garak dropping all elusive pretense and hissing the core of it in Julian’s ear, purring that he first approached Julian’s table because he saw a pretty thing that he wanted in his bed. ...But then, if Garak spoke directly, he wouldn’t really be _Garak_ , and there’s something about this blunt, violent facsimile that’s just too disparate.

Then that rough doppleganger shoves his dick back into Julian’s tight body, and it’s all Julian can do not to _scream_. Whatever their personality, this is Garak’s body; this is what Garak’s cock feels like, would feel like, back in that little lie of a clothing shop. Julian pretends he’s being pinned up against a mirror instead of a dingy side corridor, pretends he’s wearing a special-made Garak-original instead of tattered rags, pretends this is born from countless replimat ‘dates’ and roundabout, argumentative flirting. Instead, it’s a power-hungry Cardassian fucking an exotic Terran, and Julian lets the illusion live while Garak claims his mouth again, shoving that long, slimy tongue so far down his throat that he thinks he might choke on it. 

Garak’s hips have stopped slamming in favour of grinding, moving in a slow, torturous circle that shifts every bump and groove along Garak’s rock-strewn cock inside Julian’s velvet channel. He’s sure he’ll sustain damage from this, and he doesn’t care. If he ever goes back, it’ll be a remnant of what he once had. 

If he stays here forever, it’ll be one in a long line of marks he’s sure Garak will bruise into him. The benefit of superior genes and all those lunches is that Julian’s already analyzed exactly how to keep the Cardassian already on his hook, and when Garak’s mouth pulls away again, Julian’s mouth follows it. 

Julian tilts his head and nips at the subtle ridges of Garak’s chin, licking a crude, wet trail up to the curves along the side of Garak’s face. Shuddering in clear appreciation, Garak turns his head to oblige, and Julian laps at the arches around his eyes, pressing teeth into each little bump—Julian researched this too heavily: how to make a Cardassian squirm. Garak hisses in delight under Julian’s careful tongue, and when he pulls away, he muses, “You, my dear, are full of surprises.”

The familiar pet name puts a smirk on Julian’s lips. He knows Garak, and Garak would prefer a challenge; he didn’t really want some broken, weak thing from amongst the battered slaves. He wanted a new, uncharted prize from across the universe, and Julian gives him that in spades.

Julian deliberately squeezes his ass around Garak’s cock, and he moans through his laboured breath, “Thank you.” He leans in closer and runs his tongue along the pebbled ridge to Garak’s ear before he adds in a lower purr, “As are you, _Elim._ ”

He feels the Cardassian’s entire body tense in his grasp, and he takes advantage of the shock to wrench his hands free of Garak’s grip. Julian throws his arms around Garak’s shoulders and bites at Garak’s cheek and groans, “Oh, don’t stop...” His perfect memory summons the exact wording Garak used, and he sighs, “I thought you were going to fuck me so hard I’d never come for anyone else again.”

Garak slams into him brutal enough to break his pelvis, and Julian _shrieks_ in pleasure. The next kiss he gets is so passionate that it makes even his augmented head dizzy, and Garak resumes a relentless pace, thrusts absolutely merciless, more than any normal Terran could take. The interest is rippling under Garak’s skin, and Julian drowns in the pleasure of a lover he’s wanted too long. 

Now, if he can just get this Garak to call him ‘my darling doctor,’ he might not _want_ to ever go ‘home’ again.


	8. Garak/Bashir (anal)

His appointment was a waste. A complete and utter waste, and Garak probably knew it would be, and that’s probably why he scheduled it so late, so very close to the time all sensible stores along the promenade close. Garak ushered him in with only half an hour to, wasted half that time trying to slip him into something more _comfortable_ —mostly in the lingerie department—and the other half ‘measuring’ him—though molesting might be a more accurate term. By the time the shop closes down and Julian’s thrown over the desk, he’s already been touched _all_ over.

Garak makes short work of all his shielded areas, anyway—rips his Starfleet jacket right off his shoulders, shoves his pants to the floor, kicks them away and tugs Julian’s turtleneck aside. Julian’s left in nothing but the thin, too-lacey underwear he obtained from a previous misadventure in this ‘plain, simple tailor shop.’ That fabric’s been shoved aside, and Garak’s massive dick is so deep inside Julian that today’s suit mishap no longer seems to matter. After all, who needs a new suit when he can have his ass split apart by a Cardassian beast of a cock?

Garak seems to agree, and the suit pretense completely falls away as he bends Julian over, strong, still-clothed chest shoving Julian’s sweat-slicked back forward. His stomach hits the cool metal of the desk, and Garak flattens him easily into it, nipping at his ear to purr, “You didn’t meet me for lunch today, my darling doctor...”

Julian’s initial response dies on his tongue, swallowed in a languid moan as Garak slides half out of him, torturously slow. Each engorged ridge snares along the puckered brim of his hole, teasing his insides as they catch and release, lighting his skin on fire. He’s all _on fire._ Garak keeps his shop too warm—hot as Cardassia, as the deserts of Julian’s own home—and it makes him sweat and pant and grow dizzy too easily. With Garak’s weight and body heat atop him, he doesn’t stand a chance. Garak’s hands pin his to the desk, cool palms trapping his thin wrists. Julian wouldn’t fight if he could, and he finally manages to murmur, “Medical... emergency...”

Or maybe he just wanted to be _punished_ later, and he divulges no more details. He doesn’t have any excuse, none that matter. He can feel every hard scale of Garak’s face when it nuzzles into the back of his neck, teeth scraping along his skin. Garak’s hips slam forward again, cock stabbing into Julian all at once, and Julian screams so loud that it echoes off the walls, trapped in the closed door. Garak’s head turns, leaning over Julian’s shoulder, to reach for his lips, and Julian’s all to eager to twist his neck and shove them together. The ridges around Garak’s eyes hit the side of his face none too gently, but he doesn’t care, just twists more to run his tongue up the dip of Garak’s spoon. Garak growls and fucks him harder, slams into him again, rocks them together and pulls out to push in, catching Julian’s mouth with teeth this time, and their tongues meet in the middle. 

Each time Garak stabs forward, Julian’s own hard-as-hell cock batters against the side of the desk, and it’s a mingled pain/pleasure that he doesn’t dare complain about. He’s glad Garak’s holding his wrists—he doesn’t _want_ to touch himself—he wants to last as long as he can, as long as Garak’s impressive alien stamina. He takes pounding after pounding with a sharp yearning for _more_ , already dripping in ecstasy as Garak’s mammoth cock brutalizes his prostate. The walls of his ass might be bruised from all the beating he’s taking, but he doesn’t care if he bleeds; he’s a doctor and he’ll fix it later. Right now, all that matters is Garak hammering into him. Garak’s entire body is consuming him, and when Garak releases his mouth in favour of assaulting his neck, it’s all Julian can do not to scream himself hoarse. 

One of Garak’s hands finally releases him, just long enough to run down his side. Julian shudders and drinks it in, fingers gripping to the desk’s other side, accidentally knocking a PADD to the floor. Neither of them pay the clatter any mind—it’s nothing to the other sounds they’re making: the slide of the desk and slapping of skin on skin and the slamming of Julian’s hips into the side and the litany of moans and gasps. Garak reaches Julian’s hips and loops two fingers into the leg of his wrenched-aside underwear. Garak rips it away a second later, and Julian hears the material tearing and only howls louder; it lets the cheeks of his ass fall loose and take the full brunt of Garak’s hips, rocky and hard and _perfect_. Julian’s eyes roll back up into his head, and even as Garak starts ferociously marking his shoulder, he knows he isn’t going to last. 

When Garak hisses in his ear, “I _missed_ you today, _my dear_ ,” it’s all Julian can do not to _explode._

He comes instantly. Intensely, wildly, hard and overwhelmingly, just like every time Garak fucks his brains out. He bursts all over the side of Garak’s desk, his head tossing back against Garak’s as he shrieks, “ _Elim_ ,” so loud that he thinks his eardrums might burst. Garak’s arms shift to wrap tight around his waist, sealing them together as Garak fucks Julian right through the shivering waves of pleasure, uses him over and over, even as he starts to slump in Garak’s grasp. Garak pulls him up from the desk, wrenching him to his feet, to full standing, and as soon as Garak jerks out of him, Julian crumples to the floor. 

He leans against the desk for support, curled against it, stretched and too-empty ass irreparably sore against the cold ground, and Garak stands before him, pumping that magnificent Cardassian cock that Julian just wants to wrap his lips around.

Julian doesn’t get the chance. Garak comes right in his face, without any warning at all. Julian just barely manages to shut his eyes in time. His mouth falls open on instinct, catching what he can, and Garak’s load sprays all over him, great, heaping gobs of thick, bubbling seed. It slides down Julian’s face and clings across the bridge of his nose and to the edges of his lips, soaking his chin, and Garak shoots string after string—Cardassians come so much _more_ than any human lover could. Julian takes it all with a swell of bliss and odd pride, until he finally feels it die down, feels the stream pitter out. When it’s safe to open his eyes, he can only open one, because the other has cum drenching his lashes. He looks up at Garak through a hazy fog of lust. 

Garak, of course, is wearing that infuriating smile of his, tempered for every occasion. But his pants are also hanging open, his hair is disheveled, and his chest is rising and falling heavily; it’s obvious that he’s just as wrecked.

When Julian moves his tongue around his mouth, lapping at the healthy dose of protein he’s just taken, he supposes his trip to Garak’s ‘tailor shop’ wasn’t such a waste, after all.


End file.
